


Non Sequitur

by uku



Category: SHINee, SHINee Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Cliche, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Shyness, Stereotypes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uku/pseuds/uku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim Kibum is terribly, horribly shy, and thoroughly enjoys hiding in the apartment across from the local convenience store. It allows him to get his daily intake of Choi Minho, the man who continues to break Kibum's assumption that all good-looking, hopelessly attractive men are assholes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Non Sequitur

 

 

 

n. an inference or conclusion that does not follow logically from the premises or evidence provided.

 

 

 

So I might've, accidentally,--unintentionally--  
  
Jumped.  
  
To a rather incomprehensible conclusion.  
  
Yes, i know what you're thinking, (what? don't look surprised.) It was stupid, unintelligent. I am not smart.   
  
But sometimes I can't help it. Myself. Because there are these little things you do, little, nit-picky, irrational things that make me want to shout my ass off at you or sexually jump you right in the "heat-of-the-moment," if you'd like me to be poetic.

All i can say is, is that maybe--i may even, just  _slightly_ , 

like you.  
  
Ok love you.  
  
A lot.  
  
But the fact of the matter is that you'll never hear this, read this, or what-not, because I know  
  
this outrageous, spontaneous, head-over-heels love   
  
is all in my head.  
  
Why won't i tell you? Why will i  _never_  tell you?  
  
Simple.  
  
You'll run away and never come back.  
  
Of course of all people in all worlds at this very, exact moment:  
  
You had to be the homophobe I had to fucking "fall" (I do not believe in "falling," but for lack of better choice-of-words) in love with.  
  
I hate you.


	2. Rescind

v. to repeal; cancel; recall

 

 

 

I may be wrong.  
  
There may be some miraculous event that you are not the socially-accepted stereotype (though I doubt that, entirely).  
  
"Excuse me," Hm? What is this?  
  
And then I see it, my judgmental self sees the impossible.  
  
There he is, there he is selflessly purchasing a steaming roll for the hobo squandering in the the alleys across the street.  
  
He's tweaking his lips in a way I refuse to believe is genuine (though it looks very much genuine) how sweet.  
  
Oh shit. Oh  _fucking_  shit.  
  
For some incomprehensible reason I ascertain that he's seen me through the sliver of blinds I've been peeking through for the past year and a half (and I still have not spoken to him, I know that so stop with the hinted "eye-lecturing")  
  
With my butt blaring sore on the carpet floor (after my wonderful panic gasp fall onto it),  
  
I run and I dive straight into bed, already dreaming of the perfect reality.


	3. expiate

v. to make amends for

 

 

I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't, but I do.  
  
I judged you, but in all honesty, you don't peg me as that "nice guy" if you know what I mean.

Wait a second, of course you don't know what I mean. I'm talking to a

wall.  
  
Let me clarify this, just ahead of everything so that you all understand this present situation.   
  
I'm a bit of a, _closeted_ kind of guy. No pun intended.  
  
I do not venture outside of this one-story apartment only when completely necessary. I also do not find the urge to socialize with particularly anyone, mostly because I do not believe they hold a significantly advanced mind like my own (do you believe this? do you  _really_  believe this?).  
  
Today is Saturday. the day has come to an end, quite quickly I might add, seeing as all I've done is tomorrow's paper.   
  
I decidedly think it best to head down to the nearest Redbox and rent a movie. Maybe that 50/50 one with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He's nice, he's very nice.  
  
Beanie on and jacket at the ready, I slip on the converse and patter out the door. With the utmost nonchalance I can possibly muster, I warily glance over my surroundings for any sort of living, breathing, heat-releasing body. Thankfully, I'm in luck.  
  
The Redbox hides in the corner of the store across my street, where he gave that hobo that roll, I'm  _walking_  right where he did, wow, and to think I thought I wasn't enough of a freak.  
  
There's a bell over that jingles as I walk through it, and it makes we wonder how down-to-earth hipster this place is trying to be, with that vintage bell.  
  
I've never really understood 'hipsters.'  
  
The Redbox glows like a beacon as I fast-walk my way towards it, head down and away from any peering faces, I jam the one-dollar bill through the machine, glaze over the titles and find something along the lines of "The Decoy Bride" almost, just  _almost_  order the movie, (David Tennant is my constant distraction, for obvious reasons) before I chicken out and rent the cancer one, too self-conscious to pick the chick-flick with it's off-putting gay tendencies.  
  
"Have a nice day,"   
  
I look. I see. _O_ _h fu--_  
  
I faint.


	4. Discursive

adj. rambling; lacking order

 

 

It's black.  
  
Why is it black?  
  
It all comes rushing in, all the horrible colours.  
  
I open my eyes. I'm terrified.  
  
He's hovering over me, whispering an "Are you okay?"  
  
I'm mute. I have recently turned mute.  
  
Self-consciousness tells me to scramble out the door, but the second I lift my head the pain comes throbbing in.  
  
"Ow," I mumble. Oh god. I actually said something.  
  
He leans in, I think I'm turning some disgusting shade of red but his lips are squarely in front of my face and yes they are a bit distracting. "I guess that's a no."  
  
I focus on the way those words make his mouth move. Then he's got his hand under my neck, slowly trying to bring me to an upright position. My body tenses involuntary, from excitement or nervousness, I'm assuming both. He pats me on the back, "Do you think you can get up?"

I nod, because gibberish is the only language I'll be able to speak right now.  
  
He smiles at me. At  _me._  
  
"Well that's good."  
  
I'm losing it.


	5. Conducive

adj. tending to bring about; being partly responsible for

 

 

I lied.  
  
I couldn't get up.  
  
My hands shaking, I inwardly take in a deep breath and push myself off the floor. Of course, I wasn't steady. My knees start wobbling uncontrollably and I know it's happening but I can't stop it and oh fuck why didn't I just get that Tennant movie instead?  
  
We fall together. How romantic.  
  
I'm splayed out on top of him and yes you'd think this would be romantic but I'd like to add I am a man and so is he. This is not remotely romantic in any possible way.  
  
He even looks beautiful from this angle. How is that even possible.  
  
"Um."  
  
I'm still on top of him. Right.  
  
I feel the heat on my cheeks as I mumble out some form of an apology that I doubt he could even understand and quickly shuffle out the door because honestly this is way too much for me to handle.  
  
I look back because I can't help myself.  
  
He's still on the ground, watching me in awed confusion as I go.


	6. Gastronomy

n. a particular style of cookery (as of a region)

 

 

I've never been particularly good at cooking.  
  
Actually, I've never tried. But I felt it was time to try something new, something terribly difficult like coq au vin just to get that terrible experience out of my head.  
  
He was so close, practically an inch away, maybe two. Honestly I could've done one squarely on his mouth and never see him again but still hold the satisfaction of having those lips on mine.  
  
I think I'm borderline obsessive.  
  
I shake my head because obviously that'll do the trick and throw on my customary hood and jeans as I walk out the door to the nearest supermarket to find these god-forsaken ingredients.  
  
I pick up a basket and start soliciting like some idiot teenager trying to sneak a beer until I find the aisle I'm looking for. I get the ingredients and immediately go to self-checkout, only to find it out-of-order. Nothing is going my way today. Or week, really.  
  
I stare at the floor and start shuffling the goods on the belt to limit the amount of conversation to as little as possible when I hear it.  
  
I hear the voice. I hear it so smooth and clear in my ears.  
  
I look up, dropping the can squarely on my foot.  
  
Why.


	7. mishap

n. an instance of misfortune

 

 

First comes the pain. Well, after all the gawking.  
  
I scream a confluence of curse words ranging from English to Korean, looking at my toe in horror as it turns a dark red. The faces are unabashedly staring at me, I throw him a twenty and grab a bag, rapidly stuffing my purchases and running out the -  
  
 _ow._  
  
The pain burns. I trip and everything scatters to the floor, once again making a splendid scene for my audience.  
  
I try again. Nope.  
  
I  
  
Can't  
  
Walk.  
  
That's when he comes over. I turn away, my face scrunched in nervousness when I hear him picking my things up for me. He plops down and faces me, bag in hand and smiling.  
  
That _smile._  
  
I take it from his hands, wonder if I smiled at him too or just sent him some obscene expression when the pain comes shooting up my toe. This is pathetic.  
  
By now, the crowd (five people) have successfully dispersed and it's just us.  
  
"Is it that bad?" he asks, looking at my now purplish toe.  
  
I nod.  
  
He looks at his watch, contemplating something. "I get off work in a few minutes, I could help you out if you want."  
  
Help me? Oh for fuck's sake that's the last thing I needed. I shake my head but still can't get up.  
  
"It's fine," he says, tone slightly sympathetic. Jesus, it's not like I'm dying or anything.


End file.
